Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: “Enough, my dear, enough. I
shan’t be able to carry them all.”
“You’ll do it easily enough, never fear!” Boris answers cheerfully.
Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
is so slender.
Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: “Well, is it heavy?”
Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
a cheerful, childlike determination. “I will carry these, but no more!”
she says.
“I want to gather as many as possible for you.” Boris’s voice is
serious; “because you know we may not see each other for some time.”
There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
“Perhaps, never,” Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
Both faces become sad and careworn.
Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: “Natasha, are you going
with him?”
Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now
sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send
Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
“No, I am going alone,” Natasha replies, “he will only lead me later to
the spot.”
Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
cautiously: “Are you frightened, Natasha?”
Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
her voice is tranquil: “No, Boris, I feel happy.”
Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
himself and in the business in hand.
The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
absently nibbling at the grain.